


Straight Jacket

by Magical_Devil_Alex



Series: Of Heroes and Villains AU [6]
Category: Markiplier Egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crime Fighting, Fighting, Flirting, Gen, Of Heroes and Villains AU, Through the Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-05 12:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Devil_Alex/pseuds/Magical_Devil_Alex
Summary: Looking back on it, Mark's relationship with Wilford Warfstache hasn't really changed over the course they've known each other.Wilford was the villain, causing meham.Mark was the hero left to clean up the mess.





	Straight Jacket

Of heroes and villains, Wilford Warfstache was  _definitely_ a villain. There was no other word to describe the maniac better than that. Ever since Mark Fischbach has known him (a lot longer than he would like to admit) Wilford has been nothing but bad news. His love of guns, obsession with knives and fascination with blood was a dangerous combination, especially when you combine it with other worldly, reality bending powers that turned him into a giant dick that had the attention span of a 2 year old. He was constantly bored, constantly causing mischief, and constantly being a pain in Mark's ass (not literally, thank God, even though Mark was half sure Wilford would fuck anything with a heartbeat given the chance). 

The hero could still recount their first meeting from memory, every detail in his mind as clear as the day it happened. He dreams about it every once in a while as well.

It had been a stunningly boring day, his day job at the electronics store he worked at not offering anything interesting to keep himself entertained. There weren't that many customers, his boss wasn't there, no deliveries, nothing. It might as well have been a ghost town for all Mark cared.

The hero sighed, twirling a random piece of electronics he found, careful not to crush it. He wasn't really sure what it was, but it was unboxed and found it on the ground, and so far it provided the best entertainment he's had so far, so why not?

The male let his eyes wander around the store and into the outside. It was rather overcast that day, only the faintest of the sun's rays making it through the thick layer of clouds. There was a few people wandering about, going from store to store or just window shopping, none of them stopping to come into Mark's store. It was like he was invisible or something, and the last time Mark checked, his power wasn't invisibility.

Mark sighed again, finally giving into temptation to turn on the small T.V in the store. It wasn't the most modern of technology, but it still worked fine. Maybe he'd find something interesting there. It was pretty much the only thing he had at this point.

Grabbing the small remote next to him, the male hit the power button, watching the old T.V turn on, to the news it looked like. Mark hated the news to be honest, and was about to switch the channel when the sound suddenly came on, along with the story changing. 

 _"-Breaking news! It seems like there is something going on at Wilbrey Street, and emergency of sorts- Helen is there now to report,"_  the male reporter said before the camera went to a place Mark new all too well, in fact it was the street just parallel to the street he was on right now, Kelden Drive. 

 _"Thank you Rory!"_ said Helan, the reporter. Her dark hair was whipping all around her, eyes wide in fear and determination.  _"I seems that there is some sort of crime spree that just erupted here, perhaps multiple people involved. The police are on their way but-"_

A loud explosion of pink caused the reporter to stumble and cover her ears.  _"We have to go,"_ she was saying to the camera man, the audio becoming more grainy.  _"It's not safe- they'll start going insane-"_  before everything shut off completely.

Well shit.

Now that he was concentrating, Mark could hear the faint sounds of something going off in the distance, many car alarms perhaps? Whatever it was, it was definitely coming from the direction of Wilbrey Street.

Meaning the problem was probably villains. 

Meaning Mark had to go help.

In an instant, the male sprinted out the door of the store, not bothering to lock it behind him. Running into the nearest alleyway, Mark pulled out a small and seemingly insignificant device, circular and black in color. It was a distortion device, a little thing made by Bing, that would change parts of Mark's appearance so that he was less recognizable. He was a nobody anyway, but the last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him because they went into a random electronic shop in the middle of Iplieropolis.

Placing the device behind his ear, it sent out a small shock, recognizing Mark in a way. Within a few moments, the longer part of his hair changed from it's usual dark color to a fiery, bright red, skin darkening a shade, and eyes having some sort of built in contacts so that he could take off his glasses, placing them in his pocket. He took off his work shirt, revealing a small red muscle tee and a belt with a giant M on it. Pressing the M like a button, material instantly shot out, covering his whole body. It was another nifty contraption made by Bing, and for the millionth time Mark thanked whatever God there was above that the android existed. Before he would have taken 15 minutes to put this all on, but with this is took seconds.

And plus, he rather liked the design of the outfit anyway. The simple black combat boots fitted to his exact measurements, the tee shirt becoming a thicker, stronger material that could bend easily with his body, the looser black pants that for the most part was stain proof, fingerless gloves that made sure his fingerprints were never left behind even though they still showed the fingertips, and Mark's favorite part, the glasses. Sure, he didn't need glasses anymore with the device intact, but these weren't any ordinary glasses.

Tapping one of the many compartments in his belt, a little drawer popped out, showing the red, almost sunglasses like goggles. Mark took them out, unfolding them and placing them over his eyes. They instantly locked into place becoming secure so that they wouldn't fall off his face, getting into sink with his surroundings and body functions, showing him everything from his own heart beat to the body heat of another human being inside the building next to him.

It made him feel like a kid all over again.

Getting his head back into the game, Mark told the glasses what he wanted them to do.

"Okay, glasses. Show me the fastest way to Wilbrey Street," he commanded, feeling the inner workings of the device to it's thing. In a few moments it tracked what was needed, showing him a pathway up the sides of the buildings next to him and over to where he asked to be taken to.

 _"News report shows that there is a disturbance in your desired location,"_ the monotone voice of the glasses said. It never failed to remind Mark of Google, another android much like Bing, but he put that thought aside. If he thought about that killer for too long it would drive him insane.

"Yep, that sounds about right. Glasses, while I get there, find out as much as you can about what is going on," Mark instructed, beginning to step back. He could see everything that the computer recommended him to do, part of which was to use his momentum and strength to basically climb up the walls of the building. Flexing his fingers, Mark began to run as fast as he could, his super strength adding to that. When he was a few feet from the wall, he jumped as high as he could, launching himself into the air. It wasn't high enough to scale the building, but it was enough to get him a good ways up.

Using his momentum, Mark scurried up the brick like a monkey, fingers easily digging into the brick, making little dents in the material. Thank God for (mostly) impenetrable skin, or else his fingers would have been covered in scratches by the time he made it to the top. 

Climbing over the ledge of the building and onto the roof, Mark could now clearly hear the signs of something being destroyed, screams of people, and the sound of gunshots echoing through the city. How he didn't notice it before was beyond him, but he was here now, doing what a hero did it times like this.

He saved the day.

The man ran to the other side of the building via the glass's directions, knowing that on the other side would be Wilbrey Street. When he got to the other side, the sight in front of him momentarily shocked him as he tried to comprehend just what the Hell was going on. 

Nearly every car on the street had been blown to smithereens, bright fires erupting from them as some firemen attempted to put them out. Bullet holes, from the police it looked like, littered the walls of the buildings, shattered glass from shops spread out everywhere. Some civilians were trying to get out, yelling and running towards the police and paramedics that had arrived. However, the weirdest thing had to be the amount of  _pink_ there was everywhere, like bombs of the color had just exploded at random places. 

What the fuck.

"Glasses, what do you got?" Mark asked after the shock had worn off. It was such an odd sight, even for him, who has seen everything from a floating eyeball shooting lasers to a miniature talking box that could fly and helped the hero from time to time. 

 _"According to my research, it seems that all the accounts of what is going on has been done by one person,"_ it informed, and Mark had to do a double take on that. All of _this_ was done by one person? That couldn't be right.

"Are you  _sure?"_

_"I am positive that is what my research concludes, Markiplier. I am also only detecting on being besides the police, civilians, firemen, and you that could have done this. However, this person seems to be able to teleport since I cannot get a defiant reading on he or she."_

Mark sighed. Of course this was done by someone able to teleport. His job could never be easy, could it? That didn't explain the pink, though.

"Well, might as well check it all out before they show up again," Mark said to himself, stepping over the ledge of the building and jumping down. He had mastered the art long ago, especially after breaking his legs a few times while doing so (it always gave Edward a heart attack whenever he did it, having to be healed by the doctor more than once for doing the stunt) but now he never did. Or, more accurately, he did it less often.

When Mark landed, his feet made a crack in the sidewalk. He would feel bad, but there were already so many cracks in the sidewalk that he didn't think about it too much. A least he didn't completely shatter it like he did the first time he managed to do it.

This made some of the police and civilians notice him, the gasps of,  _"Markiplier! It's Markiplier!"_ filling his ears. Mark gave a flutter of his hand, running further into the street where most of the damage was before they could say anything else. As much as he loved meeting people (or as Edward always pus it, _fans_ ), he couldn't do that while there was still the maniac that did  _this_ loose in the city. 

The deeper Mark got into the madness, the more confusion arose. Up close the pink was actually  _sparkling,_ making him think of fairies that had thrown up everywhere. Maybe this person was some sort of alien, and alien that shit pink everywhere and thought that blowing up everything was cool. To be honest, it wouldn't be the strangest thing that's ever happened to him.

"Hey glasses, have you been able to locate that person yet?" Mark questioned, stopping in the middle of all the rumble around him. It almost looked like a crater of sorts, everything here further down than the ground around it, the asphalt a darker shade as well. Did a literal bomb go off here or something?

The glasses hummed, observing the world around it and revealing numbers that Mark missed because of how fast they were being calculated.  _"It seems that the being has stopped teleporting for the moment,"_ the monotone voice stated. The man furrowed his eyebrow together at this. 

"Then where are they?"

"Well I do believe I'm right here!"

Mark whipped around in surprise, trying to find the source of the voice. It was loud and booming with a funny accent that Mark couldn't quite place, filling every corner of the oddly quiet street. Since when had it gotten this empty and silent? He could have sworn there was sound not 5 seconds ago from the police and whatnot. 

"Who's there?!" Mark demanded, getting into a defensive stance with his fists in front of his body, bending his knees, ready to pounce.

The voice laughed, a childish and bubbly sound, with a tinge of madness that anyone could easily place. It fit perfectly with the destruction around them.

"The great Markiplier wants to know who  _I_ am? What an honor!" the voice cheered, and before Mark could process it all, there was a person in front of him with a puff of pink smoke, way to close for anyone's liking. The man stumbled back, instinctively clenching his fists and swinging. Within a second the person disappeared, another puff of pink left behind.

Mark took the moment to calm himself, heart rate having spiked at the scare. From what he could remember, it looked to be a man, even though the voice already confirmed that. The only other thing that popped into his mind however, was a pink mustache. But that couldn't be right, could it? Mark can't think of ever seeing someone with naturally pink hair, especially since he didn't think anything else on the man was pink. 

"That wasn't very nice, Markimoo," chided the man, giggling again at the nickname.

"I'd like it if you  _wouldn't_ call me that," Mark retorted, already done with this pink bastards bullshit.

The smell of bubblegum and gunpowder filled Mark's nostrils, an odd combination to say the least. Before he could turn around to investigate, arms wrapped around him while a voice whispered flirtatiously, "I can call you other things if you want, Darling."

Mark instantly shoved the arms off of him, elbowing the man behind him with as much force as he could, getting the desired effect. The man, heaved, all the air being forced out of his lungs and stepping back, only for Mark to turn around and punch him swiftly in the gut. At this he stumbled back further, and for now, Mark wanted to keep it that way.

Now that the other wasn't just thin air like a dickwad, Mark could actually see who this person was. He was right in saying he had a pink mustache, the thing rather weird to say the least. The man was also tall, a lot taller than he expected, and and the shirt that only covered part of his arms showed that he had some muscle on him. No matter about that, Mark was the strongest person in Iplieropolis, if not the whole world. No one he's fought has even come close. 

"That's what I thought, you dirty bastard," Mark snapped, getting back into his defensive position. The other man put a hand to his chest, looking up at Mark. 

That smile made his veins fill with ice. 

"Well then," the man slurred, a gun and knife appearing in each hand. "We have a fiesty one here."

Before Mark could see his hand move, the gun in his right hand gave a loud  _bang!_ Less than a millisecond later, a sharp pain raced up his leg, and Mark hissed from the impact. He looked down at the leg, seeing a small hole in his pants from where the bullet hit. However, there was no blood, no evidence that he had ever been hurt, and in fact, said bullet that hit him was on the ground, crunched up into a small ball of metal. 

Mark smirked, reaching down to pick up the bullet, tossing it in the air as he stood back up. "How about that-"

He was gone. The damn guy was gone again, nothing but a pink cloud behind.

Shit.

"Glasses, where is-"

Arms wrapped around him again, more forceful this time, lifting him up before Mark felt like he was being sucked into a vacuum, the wind and pressure intensifying, ears popping, air being compressed from his lungs. It must have taken only seconds, but to the man it felt like an hour. Just as Mark thought he was going to pass out, it all stopped. The arms let go of him, and he collapsed to the ground like a ragdoll, gasping for precious air.

"That was  _fun._ "

Mark rolled to his back, seeing that man towering above him with a satanic grin on his face. The gun was gone, but the knife, rather large now that he looked at it, was still present.

"Your... definition of fun... is much different... than mine," Mark manage to say between breaths, trying to sit up and move back and away from this madman. But the other had none of that, stepping on his leg to keep it from moving. Mark growled, using his other leg to kick it off, only for the other man to not even budge.

 _What the Hell?_ he thought, confusion filling him. He kicked this guy only a minute ago and he fell back, so why wasn't it happening now? Mark tried again, putting more force behind it, but the man caught his foot before it could do anything, tisking.

"I don't think so,  _Darling._ " The amount of fake sweetness in his voice was enough to put Starbucks to shame. 

Before Mark could do anything else, pain consumed his limbs, every nerve on fire. He yelped, trying to get away, but the guy easily held his leg in place. It was like  _he_ was the one with super strength instead of Mark. What even  _happened_ to his strength? It was there a few seconds ago... but now it was just  _gone._ He hoped it was just temporary. If he lost his strength, then he wouldn't be a hero anymore, and he really  _would_ be a nobody. Mark wasn't sure what he would do with himself if that became the case.

The pain slowly became stronger and stronger, sucking up all of Mark's energy and leaving his muscles weaker and weaker. At this rate, he would never be able to take this guy out. Desperate, he did the first thing he could think of.

"H-hey! What's y-your name?" Mark stuttered, voice slightly weaker than it would usually be. All of a sudden, everything stopped, the pain no longer gripping him. 

The man's odd little grin widened, and Mark swore his eyes flashed pink. "You don't know who I am?" the man questioned, as if he was someone that everyone should know and respect, like a famous reporter or something. Or, the first person that came to Mark's head, Bim Trimmer. 

Mark smiled, grinding his teeth together in attempt to sound polite and interested. "Well, that's why I asked!"

The man smiled even  _wider_ if that was possibly, showing off every single tooth he had in his mouth. "Why I'm Wilford Warfstache, senior reporter!" he boasted.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows together at that. The man, Wilford, didn't look old enough to be a senior reporter, but who knew these days? And Warfstache... that name sounded so  _familiar,_ he's sure he's heard it before. But  _where?_ Did he have an old friend with that last name? Probably not, seeing that it was such an odd name that he would have certainly remembered said person. Maybe it was on the news a while back? Whatever it was, at least Mark had a name now, and the other was slowly becoming more and more distracted by his talking, so much so that the pressure on his leg was gradually lessening. 

Mark nodded his head in interest. "I think I have heard of you, actually! I've seen you on T.V a couple of times!"

Excitement grew on Wilford's face, and Mark couldn't help but think that this man was very much a child. A child that likes seeing others in pain, knives, guns, and for whatever reason, the color pink. Fantiasic. 

Testing his luck, Mark decided to take it one step further. "Hey could I get your autograph? It's so cool meeting a celebrity in real life," he held his breath as he watched Wilford's work out whatever he was thinking in his mind. It was hard to read him if Mark had to be honest; his face showed so much yet nothing at all. He could be thinking about riding a unicorn over a rainbow and he would never know it.

"Well of course! Why are you on the ground anyway?" Wilford held out his hand as if for Mark to grab, but Mark was taken aback. Did this guy seriously not remember  _anything_ that just happened within the last few minutes? Anything? It didn't appear so.

Mark hesitantly grabbed Wilford's hand, trying to look more relaxed than he was. Wilford easily brought him up, and Mark couldn't help but admire the amount of strength this guy had, even if it wasn't  _super_ strength.   

"I'm not sure why I was on the ground. It's all a blur to me," Mark said carefully, trying to play the part he just asined himself. If he could make it seem like he didn't know anything more than the other guy, he should be fine, right? Unless Wilford either A: suddenly remembers, then he's fucked. Or B: Wilford's been faking the entire time, and then he's  _double_ fucked. 

Wilford's eyes went glazed for a moment, as if he just recalled a distant memory. Mark held his breath, thinking that his fears had just come true and Wilford was remembering what just happened. His fears were quickly soothed, however, when a pen (pink, of course) appeared in Wilford's hand, along with a piece of paper. 

"Oh, that happens to me all the time! Crazy, right?" the pink man giggled, as f he had just told a great joke. Mark laughed along with him, hoping he didn't sound as confused as he was. "Anyway," he continued, slur becoming stronger. "Who do I make this out to?"

Mark blanked, not entirely sure what he should say. Make it out to Markiplier? It wouldn't really be a lie, seeing that  _was_ his hero name and all, and he really didn't want to give this madman his real name so he could use it in the future, hanging it over his head like a guillotine. And he couldn't worry about that right now. What he needed to do was try and get his strength back, and stall as long as possible until then. 

"I'm ah, making it out to Markiplier," Mark stumbled over the words. Wilford didn't seem to notice, pen coming up to rest on the paper and start writing.

"Ah yes, Markiplier! How could I forget, yes," even through the paper Mark could see the bright pink bleeding through, every letter accented. It looked as if Wilford's handwriting was just as slurred as his speech, which oddly fitted him.

Halfway through writing down Mark's name however, he froze, staring at the half written word with a blank expression. Mark felt sweat starting to roll down his back, every muscle tense. Should he attack now, while Wilford was off? Would he even have his strength back? there was only a few ways of telling.

"Markiplier..." Wilford trailed, savoring every syllable on his tongue slowly. "Markiplier... Mark... Iplier...," Wilford's gaze gradually left the paper, meeting Mark's with empty, far off eyes. It was like he saw every inch of the hero, yet none at all. He stayed like that for so long that Mark scarcely breathed, too afraid the other man would suddenly lash out if he made and harsh movements or loud noises. 

Mark took one careful step forward, making sure Wilford never reacted to anything. When he didn't, the hero lifted his hands, using one to snap. The other man still never moved a muscle, so far gone in whatever memory he was in to notice anything in the real world. Somehow, Mark had the feeling this happened often. He had no concrete evidence, but there was something about this guys aura that was just... wrong, off. Like it didn't quite belong in this plain of existence. 

Mark clenched his fist, trying to determine if his strength was back at all, but the only way he would really know would be to actually test it.

Oh well. It was now or never.

In one swift movement, the hero brought back his fist, using all the force and momentum he had to punch Wilford right in the sternum, hoping that the force would either render him useless or knock him out. Much to his surprise, Wilford went flying, but there was a flash of pain in his knuckles that usually wasn't there. Mark didn't particularly care about that right now though, to happy about his strength being back.

The hero watched as the other man hit a pile of rubble, falling limply against it. His expression hadn't changed one bit, that haunted, empty stare still was looking straight at Mark. The hero was starting to feel concern for the other, even if he did cause all this destruction to his city. There was something clearly wrong with Wilford, anyone could see that really, but it went further than madness and bloodlust. Something was... fractured in him. The hero thought about it so much that he actually started to feel bad about the punch, even if he had just somehow taken his powers.

"Wilford?" Mark called out, walking forward towards the other, who remained unresponsive, at least in his expressions. His hand had started to twitch, reminding Mark of a robot about to go haywire, and believe him when he says he's dealt with enough of those to know what it looks like. 

So fast that it Mark might have blacked out for a split second, Wilford was in front of him, knife clenched in his hand and gun in the other, both raised. The gun shot Mark's chest before he could move, the shock of pain going through his entire body, but much like before, no blood. The hero didn't wait for Wilford to realize this, grabbing the gun with his hand and squeezing it as hard as he could while his other hand hooked Wilford in the face.

Wilford's head snapped the other direction, but otherwise didn't show signs of being hurt. That made Mark's heart start to beat faster, knowing that that sort of punch was knock out the average villain he fought. But this guy took it like it was nothing. 

Mark ripped the now destroyed gun from Wilford's hand, throwing it as far as he could the other direction before the other swung the knife at him. Just as it was about to hit his skin the hero managed to catch Wilford's wrist, every muscle trembling in attempts to keep the knife up. Sure, Mark knew that very few things could actually pierce his skin, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the pain. And plus, Wilford seemed dead set on somehow hurting him.

"You... do know... nothing can... make me bleed, right?" Mark said, falling back into a small lung as Wilford grabbed the hand on his wrist with his own. His blank eyes looked intently into Mark's, and the hero had the sudden thought of someone in the military, about to kill their target. It was a rather odd thought, but that's exactly what it looked like, no hesitation, strength and calm, doing anything to survive. It was almost creepy.

Mark fell to one of his knees, gasping as he tried to push Wilford off. Perhaps this guy was a lot stronger than he gave him credit for, or maybe he took away his powers again. He didn't think so, seeing that the gun did nothing to him.

With a shout, Mark grabbed the blade of the knife, crushing it in his palm, his other arm giving out, causing Wilford to pretty much land on top of him. Wilford instantly reacted to the new scenario, straddling Mark's chest and throwing the ruined knife aside. The hero had just enough time to think that it was weird that Wilford wasn't using his powers when a hurricane of punches came hurling at him, all with brute force and precise hits. Mark was too stunned for several moments to understand what was going on, each punch bruising and making him lose air. In the back of his mind he knew that some punches wouldn't  _actually_ bruise him, but _damn_ did it sure feel like it. Maybe Wilford was trying to break a bone of something, after all, Mark  _could_ hurt things on the  _inside_ of his body. Then he wondered how he could possibly know that at all.

Just as he thought that, there was a sharp  _crack!_ and pain flooded his nose. That snapped him out of it, hands flying up to stop the assault on his face before it could get worse. Wilford didn't seem to think he would fight back, because he stopped punching Mark, struggling against his hold with a snarl on his lips, reminding Mark of a pissed off wild cat. 

The hero brought his knees as close to his chest as possible while still holding Wilford's wrists, managing to shove them under the other man, pushing up as much as he could. This cause Wilford to get off balance, falling forward as if to kiss Mark. The hero briefly thought,  _oh Hell no I'm not kissing this guy,_ launching the villain over him with his legs, which got him off of Mark and over his head.

Scrambling to is feet in fear that Wilford would get up, Mark quickly pinned the other man to the ground, much like he had been a few seconds ago. The mustached man struggled in his hold, thrashing and saying,  _"no, you won't hurt them again!"_

 __The hero looked down in confusion, not sure what the Hell this guy was talking about. Hurt who? And _again?_ Mark's never met this guy in his entire life, and he was sure he would remember if he had. Teleporting and a pink mustache were hard to forget. 

However, before he could question this, the sounds of police sirens and people started to come in from the distance. The hero mumbled to himself, thinking it would be good riddance to get rid of this madman and put him in a mental facility. Maybe restrain him with a straight jacket, lock him in a room and throw away the key. That sounded nice to Mark. One less villain on the streets for him to deal with.

The hero stood up, taking Wilford with him, making sure his hands were pinned behind his back and that he couldn't move. The mustached man continued to struggle and spit phrases Mark didn't understand, his odd slur going in and out of his voice, like two different people were trying to control the same body. 

"Yeah yeah," Mark said, not really paying attention. What he was looking for was the police, which he could hear really clearly now. But it seemed that they were in some sort of mini crater, not able to see anything on the top of it. After another minute of looking, he saw the first signs of one, a young looking man with red hair, and he gave a flutter of his hand to let him know he was there. The officer smiled widely, like a child on the playground, and the hero couldn't help but chuckle. The officer then motioned with his hand, probably some others, and three more of them appeared on the sides. 

"Hey everyone!" Mark said in his 'hero' voice, which basically meant he made his voice go slightly deeper than it already was. The device behind his ear modified it a little bit, but you could never be to precautious. 

The officers said their 'hello!'s back, one of them sporting a particularly large pair of handcuffs that would dampen the powers of anyone who happened to be wearing them. They always used them with villains with special powers, and the last thing they needed was for Warfstache to use his reality shifting mind fuckery of powers that he had, even if he did seem more docile right now.

Mark began walking towards the officers, keeping his hold on Wilford firm, when said man started struggling even harder than before.

"I won't let you take me again!" he yelled, voice layering.  _"NEVER AGAIN!"_

Pink flared up around Wilford, forming some sort of aura around him. Mark nearly let go, but managed to hold on. "Get back!" the hero called to the officers, trying to get the mustached man under some sort of control. It didn't work, the aura growing higher and higher, stronger and stronger with each passing moment until he was ripped from Mark's grip, a flash of pink filling the crater.

The hero covered his eyes, the light blinding him momentarily, before opening them again, blinked furiously to get the pink floating dots out of his vision. When he finally settled, Wilford Warfstache was nowhere to be found.

Well fucking Hell.

Mark ran his fingers through his red hair, nose aching with pain, but for now he ignored it. He had to check and see of everyone else was alright. He was able to find enough energy to jump, his strength launching him up and out of the crater, landing next to a different officer than before, an older female, who was pushed back by the force of the blast Wilford has created. The hero helped her up, and she thanked him, before looking looking around to see if her colleagues were all right, running to one that was limping to help out. Mark did what he would, lifting an injured civilian into an ambulance and getting heavy debris off of trapped people. 

It was all fine until the news reporters showed up. It always was.

Except for Bim. Mark always seemed to make the exception with the show host, but he guessed he was biased on that regard. 

The first lady shoved a microphone in his face and nearly pushed him back into the crater. "Who was this new villain that got away today?" she demanded, so close that he could smell her overpowering perfume that pretty much burned his nostril hairs. 

"Well, ah," well Mark was just great on the stop, wasn't he? So much for being the smooth and sexy hero. "He calls himself Wilford Warfstache."

Another one tried to get to him to do a play by play of the entire fight, which Mark refused to at  _least_ 4 times. That reporter did  _not_ like that at all, but the hero couldn't care less. He had bigger things to deal with then a bossy reporter that only wanted the views.

The last one however, he did answer their question. She was calmer than the other two, pretty and pink hair with her mouth curved into a lovely smile. "When you do catch this 'Wilford Warfstache,' what do you plan to do with him?"

Mark blanked for a split second, a thought from earlier popping into his mind. "When I catch Wilford Warfstache, I plan on admitting him to an insane asylum myself, wrap him in in a straight jacket, throw him into solitary confinement, lock him in and crush the keys into a million little pieces." The reporter giggled at that, thanking him for answering the question before going back to doing whatever reporters do. 

Yeah, that was a weird day. And really, nothing much has changed. Wilford still showed up and random locations, doing random things and causing all the mayhem he could before Mark would show up to stop him. Every time, the hero would get so close on catching him before he just... disappeared without a trace. Leaving Mark behind to clean up the mess. 

Well, that's how their relationship had always been, even from the very start. 

And really, if Mark thought about it, he didn't really want it to change. 

Wilford Warfstache was the villain, insane and unpredictable, never sure what he's going to do next.

Markiplier was the hero, ready to stop him at any moment. 

Together, they were the most iconic duo Iplieroplis had ever seen.    

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment.
> 
> ~Magical_Devil_Alex


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